


A Hundred and One Nights at Sea

by ararelitus



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Mythology, M/M, Magic, Slow Burn, Storytelling, gold - Freeform, mythology of my own making, spot the literature references and influences, the call of the sea, the sea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 12:28:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22770037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ararelitus/pseuds/ararelitus
Summary: They said, at the very edge of the pier moors the one sea captain mad enough to take Francis to his destination. “He’s battled beasts beyond belief,” they said. “He's escaped the fires of hell,” they said. “He has a bullet of ancient steel in his spine,” they said. He sounded more like a myth than a man.“I wish to sail to the end of the earth, will you take me there?” Francis asked.“Ah, so you’ve heard the tales,” the sea captain said, "tell me, why do you seek the heart of the sea?”
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames
Comments: 43
Kudos: 45
Collections: The Terror Bingo (2019)





	1. Prologue

> "These nights are endless, and a man can sleep through them,  
or he can enjoy listening to stories, and you have no need  
to go to bed before it is time. Too much sleep is only  
a bore...  
  
But we two, sitting here in the shelter, eating and drinking,  
shall entertain each other remembering and retelling  
our sad sorrows."  
― Homer, The Odyssey

Thomas Blanky had spent many years at sea between superstitious sailors and self-righteous soldiers. However, his oldest friend, Francis Crozier, was neither of those things. Thomas feared the path he was heading down. 

“The heart of the sea? Francis, I think you best leave that one alone,” Thomas replied. 

“Thomas,” Francis pleaded, placing his hand on Thomas' shoulder. “I _ must _know how to find it.”

Thomas sighed. He knew Francis. He knew how Francis couldn’t let something lie. Most of all, he knew if anyone could persevere, it was Francis. 

“No one truly knows anything, but in my many years at sea I’ve heard story after story. I know that few who’ve pursued it have returned. None succeeded.”

“You must know something?” Francis stared at him, like a man possessed. 

“Not much more I can say. Go to the old village in Portsmouth, ask the sailors. Ask the old innkeepers. At the end of the pier, there’s an old sea captain - lot of stories about him, one is he knows how to sail there.”


	2. Prologue

Francis walked down to the docks, past many men and many ships. Some laughed, knowing his purpose, others sneered. Francis knew they were all ignorant fools. 

At the very edge of the pier moors the one sea captain mad enough to take him to his destination. “_He’s battled beasts beyond belief," _they said. “_He's escaped the fires of hell,” _ they said. “_He has a bullet of ancient steel in his spine,” _ they said. He sounded more like a myth than a man. 

But Francis looked at the sea captain before him, dark curls falling in waves along his long face. Not a spot marred his pristine white waistcoat adorned with gold buttons. His ship, complete with a fresh coat of paint, looked as it had never so much as been caught in a gale. Francis, many years more grey and worn, remained unconvinced

“I wish to sail to the end of the earth, will you take me there?” Francis asked. 

“Ah, so you’ve heard the tales,” the sea captain said. He did not look up at Francis. He kept winding the rope in his hands. "Tell me, why do you seek the heart of the sea?” 

“It is all I want. I love the sea and no other. I must know its secrets.” 

The sea captain turned to face him, studying Francis’ battered form. Judging, most certainly. Francis was no soldier, no privateer or trader, just another lost explorer.

“The sea will not take kindly to you pursuing its heart, you know that?” the captain said, looking up. Something about his eyes was not quite right. 

“I do.” Francis tried to hide the chill that ran down his spine. 

“How do you intend to compensate me for the voyage?”

“They say there is gold at the end of the earth.”

“So no collateral? You expect me to risk my ship and my life?”

“I come from nothing, I intend to have nothing, but the sea. I hear you’ll take any risk.” Francis straightened his back, sizing up the other man. “They say you have no fear, or were the tales mistaken?”

The sea captain laughed and stepped out of the shadow of the sail. “Very well, Francis Rawdon Moira Crozier, I will take you there. Climb aboard the _ Erebus._”

Francis took a step back. “How do you know my name?”

“You think a man frequenting these parts, asking my name, listening to any who will speak, wouldn’t catch my attention?”

“I suppose not.” 

The sea captain reached out his hand for Francis to take, his long fingers covered in gold rings. Francis’ palm reached and felt only smooth skin, no callouses from the rope, no cracked skin from the wind and rain, no trace of a life lived. 

Francis’ boots hit the deck. The ship rocking under the weight. He looked up at the masts bearing red sails, a daunting signal amongst the bright skies.

He glanced about the deck, looking for any other signs of life. “Where is your crew?”

“Ah, that is where you come in, Francis Cozier. A crew can be two men.” 

Of course, he’d have to work for this too. But perhaps, the fewer men involved, the better.

Francis turned back to the Captain. “Why did you name your ship after the darkness of Hell?” 

“You ask a lot of questions, Francis Crozier. All will be revealed.”

~~~

Francis threw his solitary bag onto the narrow bed and looked around the small cabin that would be his home for a hundred days. Old pictures from all around the world hung on the walls; drawings of sea monsters and ships caught in storms, faded on yellowed paper.

The sea captain stopped in the doorway. “Will you accompany me?”

“Why?” There was no need to get familiar with the man he was employing. Why, when this was all just a means to an end?

“Alright, suit yourself.” The sea captain sighed, more obviously than necessary. 

Still, curiosity plagued Francis. He followed the sea captain into the small dining area. A set table awaited him. 

“Sit, Francis Crozier, let me make you a cup of tea.” The captain pulled out a chair for him. 

“Just Francis is fine.”

On the table sat two cups and a china teapot. It had once been fine china, had it not been smashed to pieces and repaired with gold filling the cracks. Still, the pot held the tea remarkably well.

The sea captain lifted it up to pour the tea into Francis’ cup. Not a drop escaped, like it had never been broken, like the cracks weren’t real and the pot was solid gold itself, the china itself an illusion. 

A question slipped into his mind. His heart raced, wondering how he hadn’t even considered it. 

“Who’s manning the sails?” Francis asked, almost a whisper, almost scared to know the answer. 

“I am.”

“You’re here.”

“Well, myself and a couple spells I’ve picked up over the years.”

“You use magic.” What precisely had Francis agreed to? What had he come aboard to? 

The sea captain nodded. 

“Magic wasn’t used in the service.” No, and it scared Francis and every man he sailed with. “You ought to be careful. Magic is too unpredictable, too hard to tame...”

“Isn’t the sea itself? Yet here you are trying to tame it.” The captain stirred his tea, unfazed. 

“I suppose, when you put it that way.”

“Men try to tame and control what they do not understand. They try with the sea, here you are now, a shining exemplar, but magic still eludes them.”

“I’m hardly shining.” 

“Yet you are here. Tell me Francis, why do you wish to know the secrets of the sea?”

“I am an explorer, I’ve spent my life at sea. As I said, I love no other and I wish to know no other.”

“Yes, yes. The call of the sea...” The captain stared off into the distance through the small window. “It is a powerful thing, it called to me - I was an explorer once, too. The sea gives and the sea takes, but it is not life.”

“Yes, so I’ve heard the tales.” Francis sipped his tea. It was some expensive blend from some far off place. Far too many flavours. He shouldn’t be surprised, given his present company. 

The sea captain turned back to him, smiling. “So, what tales have you heard of me, Francis?”

“Too many, to be frank.”

“Simply wondering how the tales have twisted and turned, that is all.”

“Why don’t you ask for yourself? Does it matter, if you’ve lived them?”

“Indulge me?”

“Your job is to sail, not be indulged.”

“And yet you do not pay me.”

Francis groaned. He looked at the man with magic at his fingertips and more gold around him than Francis had touched in his life. “You don’t strike me as a man who’s lacking funds, nor one who would have trouble getting anything in this world.”

“Perhaps then, a man in my position, as you would suggest, is lacking a good story and someone to tell it to?”

“So find someone who will listen.” Francis knocked back the rest of his tea. 

“Are you not listening?”

“Must I?”

“Yes.” 

“They say you’re a hundred years old, you don’t look a day past thirty-five. I don’t believe a word of it.”

“I look quite handsome for a man of a hundred, wouldn’t you say?”

“I think you’re a man who’s all story, somehow you’ve managed that. You’re the lonely sea captain who never comes ashore, the mystery man at the end of the pier. They say you call yourself James Fitzjames, a man of your own making. And how did you make yourself, huh, James Fitzjames?”

“I’ll tell you, if you are willing to listen.”

“If I have no choice.”

“A hundred and one nights at sea lie ahead. Each night I will tell you a tale and you shall decide for yourself. Consider it your payment for the voyage.”

“Very well.” A small price to pay in the grand scheme. Francis sighed. Soon the heart would be his, and this voyage a mere memory fading in the distance. 

“I will start by answering the first question you asked, about my ship.”

“Oh?” 

“The truth is I did not name her, I simply stole her.”

“Really? You a pirate too?” Francis prepared to roll his eyes.

“Hardly. I was merely collecting what I was owed. I sailed aboard this ship many times, but she flew another flag then. Before my time, she was wrecked and I helped put her back together. My blood and sweat went into these planks. She was Her Majesty’s Ship then, and now she is mine.”

“How did you manage that?”

“I was left alone, in the Arctic. I could have returned with her, but I sailed in the opposite direction.”

Francis stared at the sea captain, seeing his strange eyes and the flecks of gold embedded in the brown like amber. This man wasn’t human. Francis’ breath caught in his lungs, wondering if some of the stories were true, after all. He’d come aboard the ship unarmed, made a deal, now sat across from what, some trickster? A man under some enchantment or curse? 

“Now, Francis, will you join me on deck?” He stood from his seat and gathered the tea set.

“Is that part of my payment too?” Would Francis have to follow him around everywhere? Complete meaningless tasks, solve some kind of riddle? 

“Now that you mention it, yes.”

“Christ. How do you know where we are going?”

The sea captain reached around his neck and pulled up a chain, at the end swung a compass made entirely of gold. “This will tell me.” He let it fall into Francis’ hands. 

Francis felt the weight of it. “The needle is gold, how the hell is it supposed to work?”

“Ah, but you see, the needle is forged from the very treasure that lies at the end of the sea. It wishes to return.”

“You’ve had this thing all this time? Why not seek the heart for yourself?”

“There are things I long for that aren’t the sea, Francis.”

“That’s hard to believe, with the life you live.”

“You will have to.”

It unnerved Francis, as someone who had spent so long at sea. If it wasn’t knowledge or fame and fortune, what did the captain want?


	3. II

“As I climbed the ladder, I was thinking of Caesar crossing the Rubicon. We reached the top and I saw the city of Changjiang laid out before us, wavering in the heat.”

Francis finished the glass of wine, wondering how long the sea captain’s liquor stores would last at this rate. 

“We rushed down into the streets and came under attack. I’d just loaded a rocket and aimed when I was struck down. Single musket ball, size of a cherry, passed clean through my arm and kept on in, entering my chest.” He brought his hand over his torso. 

“Ah, the infamous story of the bullet that’s in your spine.” Francis poured himself more wine.

“Ah that’s one thing the tales have wrong. It isn’t there anymore. There was a doctor aboard the ship who managed to recover it. Dr. Stanley, a brilliant surgeon, managed to get it quickly when there was no anesthetic. Dreadful bedside manner though. Nevertheless, I was thankful to him.”

The captain took a breath and sipped his wine. 

“Weeks later, I sat for the painting of the signing of the treaty, my arm in a sling. It was a rather tedious ordeal I must admit, never happy with how it turned out, I couldn’t even recognize myself. Could have just as easily sent someone else in my place. I can’t say I minded sitting still in quiet, after all the action, though.”

“When was this war? I must have been in the Antarctic at the time.”

The sea captain brushed him off. This wasn’t about the details. Apparently dates and details did not make a great tale. They did make a believable one, though. 

“The treaty signed, painting sent off, and my wounds healed. I longed to walk away from the sea. I asked to walk the journey back home on foot, but I was denied.

“I was so disappointed. At that point, I’d have liked the endless solitude of the long walk across the continent. After that long recovery aboard the ship, men around me at all times, no peace and quiet, I once again would have done anything to get away.”

Francis was no stranger to that feeling. He hated stagnation, it was a state he could never tolerate sober. Though he never tried to do such unnecessary feats just out of  _ boredom.  _

“I was the best walker in the service, I once told the Admiralty that without blushing.” The captain blushed. 

“Did you, now.” Francis rolled his eyes. 

“Alright, perhaps it was my height and my brisk gait that gave me an advantage. Or it was my ambition. That will be a story for another time. At that point I wanted to walk through Tibet and Russia, to try my hand at being an overland spy.”

“A spy?”

“If the sea wasn’t bringing me any fortune, perhaps something else would.”

“You are a great teller of tales, I’ll give you that. Don’t know how well you’d have managed as a spy. I can see it now, telling the enemy your life story the moment they ask.”

The captain frowned. “Perhaps, being a spy is less about what you tell and more about what you don’t. With a breadth of information, how would you know what’s lacking?”

“Is that what you’re doing now? Telling me everything but what I need to hear?”

“No, Francis, I’m merely telling you not to doubt my abilities.” The captain’s smile returned. “But it’s in the past now, you may believe what you like.”

“You know Captain, I’m wondering if there’s anything you can’t do. According to your tales, that is.”

It frustrated Francis. When he had to work hard to get anywhere in the service. Meanwhile, this captain had everything fall right into his gilded hands. 

The sea itself was testing Francis, measuring his worth, and he was determined to emerge victorious.

~~~

It had been many years since Francis sailed on a ship he did not commend. Now he’d sit and listen to the sea captain’s heels click along the planks that confined them both. At night the captain’s long shadow would stretch across the floor before he announced the next tale. 

But tonight, Francis wasn’t satisfied with just waiting. 

He stepped out onto the deck, finding the sea captain staring up at the sky. He stood leaning against the mast with his loose shirt, many years out of fashion, billowing in the breeze. He took it all in with such confidence. 

But here, Francis did not recognize the stars. He didn’t recognize anything in this place. 

“I don’t like this,” Francis said, walking up beside him. “This strange and unfamiliar sky.”

“Just stop and listen, see what the stars have to tell you, and maybe you’ll find it’s not so strange after all.”

It was absurd, like everything else that came out of the captain’s mouth. One doesn't listen to the stars. 

The captain turned to him. “Well, Francis, are you ready for our tale of the evening?” 

Francis sighed. “Does this tale by any chance include our current coordinates?”

“It does not. If you wish to speak of navigation we may do so after.”

“I count on it.”

“Very well. Tonight I will tell you how I tried to tame one of the great beasts.”

“A capital story.” Francis knew this one too well. 

“It all started when I was finally appointed a captaincy at twenty-nine, but there was a caveat.”

“What could that possibly be?”

“I had to find the ship first.”

“Ha!”

“I admit I didn’t want the post at the time, I was hoping to go to the poles or the Mediterranean. I wanted to finally become an explorer, not run a glorified errand.

“My mind was elsewhere, I was young and impatient. I published a poem about my time in China, I wrote countless letters, spent a small fortune on wax and stamps, desperately looking for someone else to take my post.”

“Christ, poetry?”

“I admit, I never said it was any good. When it all failed, I boarded a ship and found the  _ Clio _ waiting for me in Bombay. I was responsible for conveying messages, transporting important passengers, writing reports, hardly the life I'd imagined for myself. I thought I was destined for more, and I let my ambition get ahead of me.

“I, like you, was well aware of all the great tales and the superstitions of sailors. So tell me, what have you heard of the great cheetah?”

“The racing cat, legend says aboard a ship, it’ll add knots to the speed.”

“Precisely. So I thought, if I was left to such tasks, why not be the fastest? My dear lieutenant, Henry “Dundy” Le Vesconte, shared my views. He agreed and he said: “ _ a large cat would make for a great ship mascot, wouldn’t you say? _ ””

“Oh Christ.”

“Capturing and bringing it aboard was the easy part. The tales were vague as always, and what they did not speak of were its claws.”

The sea captain walked over to stand under the solitary lamp swinging overhead. His long fingers moved to his shirt, his gold rings glistening in the light, rapidly undoing the buttons. The shirt fell open to reveal the compass around his neck. He slipped the shirt off one of his slender shoulders, revealing the mark of claws. This was no usual scar, it was as if the wounds had been patched back together with gold.

“The cat did that?”  _ What strange magic was this _ ?

“Yes. I wasn’t the first man it sank its teeth and claws into. It got loose on the ship, attacking anyone at will. So, I jumped in front as a diversion, long enough for the other men to subdue it.”

“Why the hell did you do that?” 

“I was the captain. It was my idea, my responsibility… I didn’t want any more harm to befall anyone under my command.”

“Ah. I understand. I was a captain too, once.”

“I assumed so. In the end, we released the cat and returned to our tasks. We went on to settle some minor disputes among traders, no grand tale there.”

This was hardly the story Francis was familiar with. The one where the captain tamed the cheetah like it was a house cat. How he sailed the swiftest ship on the seas and became the fastest man to sail around the world. Somehow, Francis liked this version better. 

“Adventure did find me soon after, in the Arctic.” The captain buttoned up his shirt and walked towards the stern. 

Francis looked up at the stars. All these stories seemed to lead to the Arctic, yet no tales mentioned the Arctic. This had become the big mystery Francis wanted to solve, what happened there? 

“ _ Captain _ Cozier,” the captain whispered.

“Yes?” Francis walked up to him.

“I quite like the sound of that. I wonder why you didn’t try to chart your own course, like so many others.”

“The others died. I do not wish to meet the same fate.”

“Ah. I suppose you have some rationality here, even when the search for the heart drives other men mad. The tales of eternal life, endless gold and all the secrets of the sea. Certainly enough to make any man’s judgement slip.”

“I simply wish to know the sea. I have no gold or silver for a ship or a crew. Besides,  _ apparently _ , you’re the only soul that knows where the heart lies.”

“Yes, how fortunate for you, Francis. I do.”

“Yes, how fortunate am I. I would love to know where we’re headed.” 

“You will know for yourself, soon enough, but now it’s getting late. Good night, Francis.” 

The captain disappeared below deck, leaving Francis to contemplate the stars and the sea once again. 

~~~ 

Francis couldn’t sleep. The rocking of this unfamiliar ship traveling through unfamiliar waters left Francis' mind uneasy. His thoughts raced, bringing new questions to the surface. 

He needed answers.

Francis rose from his bed, lit a lamp and crept down the hall to the captain’s bedroom. 

The captain lay there on his side, sleeping, his hair falling over the pillow. Francis was beginning to wonder if he ever slept. This felt like a relief. 

The compass lay on the shelf beside him, unguarded. Carefully, Francis reached for it. 

Francis flipped it open. The needle shifted as he examined it in his hand. Francis picked up his lamp and walked towards the main cabin and carefully slid the door open. He should not be here, he felt  _ unwelcome. _ But that had never stopped Francis before. 

The room smelled of that floral air that the captain carried everywhere with him. More paintings covered the walls, more shipwrecks and monsters. Maps of every size blanketed the desk. 

Francis pulled back the chair and sat down. He placed the compass atop the map. 

It pointed in a different direction than before. Had they changed course?

The map contained two halves of the world, each piece of land charted with certainty in ink and he wondered where the captain got such a thing. 

He wondered if this contained all the answers, but it wasn’t as simple as an “x” on a page. His questions remained unanswered, for now. Here he was, no working compass and no coordinates to follow.

Francis returned to the captain’s cabin. In the candlelight Francis saw he’d shifted onto his back. Without considering it much, he set the compass on the bed beside the captain and turned to leave.

“Did that satisfy your curiosity, Francis?”

Francis froze. “I- uh-” He looked back at the captain, still lying there with his eyes closed.

“I don’t blame you. So tell me, what did you learn?” The sea captain sat up in bed, smiling, undisturbed by the intrusion. 

“Nothing. Can’t make sense of the thing. Your maps don’t make sense to me either.”

“Of course not. The sea doesn’t want you to find it’s heart.”

“So because I want the heart so much, the compass doesn’t work for me?”

“In a manner of speaking. You’re blinded by your desire, unable to decipher what’s right in front of you.”

“So I leave the course to you?”

“You must take a leap of faith, Francis.” The sea captain pulled a knit sweater over his head and rose from the bed. “Otherwise, we’ll get nowhere.”

“Good night, Francis. I must check on the sail.”

He slid past Francis in the doorway, his hand brushing against Francis’ chest, making him shiver. 


	4. III

“Francis, why don’t you tell me something first before tonight's story?” The captain sat across from him, his legs crossed, sipping his tea. “Here I am, telling you my life story, and I know all of three things about you, including your name.”

“What do you want to know?”

“The sea, this love of the sea- you know it’ll never love you back.”

“I’m aware. Many have told me.”

“Has it always been just the sea?”

“Why?”

“There’s something about you, a feeling.”

“Suppose you’re right. I have loved, twice before.”

“Oh?”

“A woman who would not marry me. She knew I loved the sea even then, I would always choose the sea over a life with her.”

“But she wasn’t the one to break your heart. Who was it before?”

Francis sighed, no use for secrets now. “A man who married someone else.”

“And left you at sea?”

“Yes, and the sea was always there. Uncaring, but consistent. That is what I want, something as reliable as the tides.” That was too much information, he was spilling his history. Like a spell, somehow the captain was able to make him talk. 

“What of you, sea captain?” Francis asked. “Why do you roam the sea alone? Shouldn’t you be in the cities, entertaining a crowd?”

The captain laughed. “Perhaps, in another life. But you know the tales, I roam the seas alone, collecting unsuspecting souls.”

“You owe me an answer in exchange.”

“I suppose that’s true. I have lost many loves in my life. The sea is a cruel mistress to any captain; few have lived, and none have stayed.”

“Never figured you’d have any difficulty.” Francis rolled his eyes. 

“Oh?”

“Well just look at you- you’re- Have you looked in a mirror?”

“I’m flattered, but vanity hasn’t treated me kindly.”

“Come now captain, you speak as a man who’s lived tragedy after tragedy, what could you have seen at such a youthful age as yours?” 

Francis clenched his fist. How could this man choose such loneliness when Francis had run from it for so long? When Francis had drunk himself out of it. Had searched lands far away to fill the void in his heart, only to lose hope out there and finally welcome the cold embrace of the sea.

“I have lived a life at sea, one which you will not understand.”

“Then make me.” Francis brought his fist down on the table. 

The china on the table shook, but the captain just stared. 

Thunder roared above. The captain looked up at the water dripping through the cracks in the wood. 

The whole ship shook, nearly sending Francis tumbling out of his chair. 

“I must check on the sail.” The captain stood, his chair topping over with the force. He glanced back before turning back to Francis. “Stay here,” he commanded. The captain marched towards the ladder and pulled himself up two steps at a time.

The ship lurched and the cups tumbled off the table, shattering. Francis slid onto his knees on the floor and gathered the pieces. 

_ The sea will not take kindly to you pursuing its heart, you know that_. Francis wondered about the truth of the captain’s words. Had the sea learned of his quest and deemed him unworthy? Was it now set on swallowing him whole? 

The ladder creaked, and Francis looked up to see the captain climbing down. His shirt was soaked and clinging to his form and his hair was now far from it’s full styled glory.

“The situation is in hand,” the captain growled. He picked up a towel and threw it over his shoulders.

“We’ll end up lost at sea if this gets any worse,” Francis murmured. He met the captain’s eye, trying to find any sign of fear, or perhaps madness. “This is a tempest.”

“Francis.” The captain sighed and brushed a wet curl out of his face. “This storm will pass, like all things at sea, no need for melodrama, not yet.”

Francis climbed to his feet. “How does this storm not scare you?”

“You’ll find not much does.” The captain reached into one of the cabinets to collect a black box. 

The captain knelt on the ground, collecting the broken pieces one by one. He stood and put the box in the cabinet, exchanging it for a new set of cups. 

“You know, Francis, I think a cup of tea is the best solution for our conflict here.”

“It is really? I have my doubts.”

The lamp rocked overhead, candles fluttering, threatening to send them into darkness. 

“Perhaps not, but at least you’ll have a cup of tea in your hands.”

The captain set a full cup down in front of Francis. “There you are, what do you think?”

Francis smelled the blend, the scent brought him right back into his mother’s kitchen. “How did you know?” 

“A guess.” The captain shrugged. 

“Alright, fine, what do you want to tell me tonight?” Francis sipped his tea and felt steadied in the storm. 

“I will tell you of how I longed dearly for the sea, as I trekked across the desert. Of the endless dunes of sand and scorching dry heat, and all the things that I miss now,” that captain said. He righted his chair and sat down across from Francis. 

“The desert?”

“I spent years on a steam ship expedition down the Euphrates river. It was meant to be my first taste of adventure, but it was one excruciating set back after another. My barge carrying coal overturned, later I broke my leg. I got malaria for the second time in my life, and I was court martialed for the ordeal. I thought things would improve, in vain. I was robbed, tasked with endless repairs to this so-called modern ship, and then I received word that my uncle, the man who raised me, had died while I was there.”

“That’s a lot of misfortune, my condolences.”

“The worst was yet to come. I wanted to get off that awful ship, so I offered to deliver all 3600 letters aboard all the way across the country on foot.”

“I walked over 500 miles in the end, wishing to see the ocean once again, wondering if I ever would again.”

“What happened?”

“I was robbed and attacked a few more times along the way but in the end I made it back, and gazed at the sea for a long time. But I developed a taste for it, the walking. Endlessly. Alone. Of course that’s only good when you have hope of reaching your destination.

“There’s nothing like the sun beating down on your face and the sight of those dunes, like waves stuck in place. The world with you in it, encased in amber. But I suppose one will miss anything after being at sea for long enough. A man who has been through bitter experiences and traveled far enjoys even his sufferings after a time.”

“I’ve never experienced anything like that, not completely.” 

“I hope you never have to. Oh, what I wouldn’t give to dry out in the sun right now.”

Francis looked at him, at the water dripping off his curls and pooling on the table, and wondered if he was cold. 

“There must be a beach around here, somewhere along the way, why not stop? Why can’t you?”

“Oh, well, that’s a story for another time.” He leaned on Francis’ shoulder. “Look at that, we have escaped the storm.”

Francis looked around and studied the wood beneath his feet. The ship rocked gently. No rain beat against the hull. 

~~~

Days later, Francis woke with a chill. He opened his eyes to see his breath in the freezing air. He pulled on his old coat and followed the streams of blue light that filtered in from over head out onto deck. 

The sea captain stood at the helm, as he always did. Great walls of ice surrounded them on all sides. 

“Where the hell are we?” Francis said, rubbing his eyes. 

“The northern lands, we will sail through the Northwest passage.”

“But, there is no passage?”

“There is, if you know what you’re looking for.”

“Men have died searching for the passage- I, almost one of them...”

“I did too, until I found it. Sailing this very ship.”

“If you know where it is, why not go back to the Admiralty? Why not chart it?”

“I’ve charted the whole world over. Those days are over for me. I suppose now that I’ve shown you, you can return, claim the prize for yourself. Have a mountain or an island named after you.”

Francis thought back to the map on the sea captain’s desk, nothing left blank. How had he managed that? “You would allow that?”

The captain shrugged. “Someone might as well, to honour every starved, drowned, and frozen soul that died here. I’ll even give you my maps - I don’t need them anymore.”

“You truly do not care for the glory anymore?”

“I’ve seen the arctic, memorized its great white nothing. I’ve watched my friends die, there is no glory here, not for me.”

Francis had struck a nerve. Not one he wanted. No, not now, not this. He knew this painting too well. He needed to patch it back up. 

“What do you know of the beasts here?” He asked. Surely there was some great story there. “Are they real?”

“I’ve seen seals and foxes, and the great walrus, once.”

The captain let out a sigh. “You’ve been to the arctic, I’m sure you know the tales of the Tuunbaq. I can assure you it is very real. My crew had the misfortune of facing the wrath of one.”

“Oh.” This was not what Francis wanted, not what he hoped to hear. The natives of this place spoke of the Tuunbaq. How the hell had the captain survived one?

The captain remained focused on the ice ahead, his tone low. “The last I saw of it was when I fired rockets at it, and then I left before seeing it again.”

“Rockets?”

“It was my specialty. I had a certain notoriety to maintain and absolutely nothing to lose.”

Francis let his hand drift along the gunwale to touch the captain’s. “And here I thought facing a highly organized mob of penguins was the worst anyone had to face at the poles.”

“Penguins?” The captain turned to him. “Do tell me of the penguins, Francis.”

“There’s not much to tell, really...”

The sea captain’s hand eclipsed his. Francis… didn’t mind it. It had been long since he’d felt the touch of another in search of comfort. And Francis thought, _ why not stay this way a little longer? _

“The worst of it all were their razor sharp beaks,” Francis continued. “My captain at the time and I walked through an ocean of them as they attacked us mercilessly.”

The captain laughed.

“Have you ever faced a horde of angry penguins? Hm?”

“Oh no, I know better than to step foot on an island occupied by them.” He gave Francis a sly smile. 

“You’re one to talk, Captain Cheetah.”

“Fair.” He sighed. “You know, that’s what they called me then.” 

The captain patted Francis’ hand. “Thank you for the story, Francis, I look forward to hearing more.”

Francis gazed up at the man before him, lit up in the sun that had just emerged from behind the clouds. His hand was so cold. 

Francis felt a tug in his heart. What was this? Were they just two lonely men at sea, reminiscing about the past? _ Or- _

The wind picked up and blew some of the captain’s curls aside, casting a shadow over the deep lines etched into his cheeks and revealing his ridiculous earring. 

Francis breath caught in his lungs and he had to look away. Back to the ice he knew so well. 

_ Or, _ was Francis starting to let himself waver from the sea?


	5. IV

Two months at sea and Francis fell into a routine of listening to the sea captain. He found he couldn’t wait to hear what the captain had to tell him next. 

The captain who was endless tales, endless clothes, and endless loneliness. It was the loneliness that mirrored his own, and it all intrigued Francis to no end. 

He was faced with a different uncharted land and a renewed sense of adventure. How unfortunate that he’d committed so profoundly to another course.

“I’ve told you of all the great tales now,” the captain said, leaning on the table. “Let’s see...”

“What of the fires of hell? Tales say you were burned.”

“It’s all metaphor, surely you’ve learned that by now.”

“I'm still curious. I still want to hear it.“ 

“Very well. I’ve never been to the real hell, nor have I felt it’s flames, but I have been burned, so to say.”

“How?”

“I was cursed - but that’s a story for another day. I broke the terms of an agreement.

The captain looked down at his hands and began turning one of his rings around his finger.

“I saved a drowned man. I wasn’t supposed to. You see, he was an important man, the sea didn’t want him saved. I dragged him back on shore, let him return to his mission. To this day I don’t know what became of him, but he no longer roams the seas. The whole ordeal left me gravely injured.”

“There was a doctor with me at the time, he was a scientist studying creatures of the sea.” A smile lit up the captain’s face. “I’d catch them for him and he’d draw them, until one day he decided to sail with me. He brought life to this ship for a time...”

The captain stared up at the wall, focusing on the framed sketch of a crab. 

“What happened?”

“Oh. Well, I repaid him for it all by nearly dying, laying there while he tended to me, no wind in our sails. But after some weeks I recovered and we set out for the open seas again.”

“What happened to _ him _ ?” Francis asked, but he had his suspicions. This trend unfolding before his eyes was not kind. 

“He returned to land and published his book. We saw each other sometimes, first on holidays, then once a year, eventually just letters waiting for me at port. He lived a full life, as he was meant to.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why? Whatever for? It was a long time ago.”

“Having someone leave your life like that- it’s not easy.” Was this the life Francis was destined for, too? 

“It isn’t but, I have this.” he pointed to the ring on his finger. “Each one reminds me of someone who sailed with me.”

“Oh-” Francis took the captain’s hands in his own. At least a dozen rings covered his fingers.

So many, and Francis had doubted his pain. So many rings, so many years, how long had the captain wandered the sea, stopping for lost explorers who wanted a taste of adventure, but never stayed?

What was Francis doing now? He was no different. 

Francis let go of the captain’s hands. “Again, I’m sorry. I didn’t know...”

“It’s perfectly alright.” The captain's voice fell to a whisper. “You weren’t meant to know.” 

“Why did you tell me?”

“You asked. I’ve run out of comedies, now it’s just tragedies.”

“You don’t have to tell me more.”

“A deal’s a deal, I’m a man of my word, if nothing else. Besides, aren’t you curious?”

“Terribly. But, if you’d rather leave some stones unturned.”

“Well then this will be my greatest tale of all.” The captain smiled. “How I enthralled the great Captain Francis Crozier with my stories.”

Francis chuckled, but his heart sank at the thought. He hadn’t considered this part. What happens after. He’d become just another story, defined in history by the silver tongued sea captain. 

Would he get a gold ring too? Would it stand out amongst the others, weighing down the captain’s delicate hands as he poured the tea for another traveler? Would the captain think of him then, and wonder where he was? 

~~~

“We’re reaching the end of our voyage, Francis,” the captain said. He stood, the wind blowing through his curls. 

He looked to Francis. “I have few stories left.”

“I highly doubt that.” Francis put his hand on the captains’ shoulder. “Besides, since you never told me where we’re going, I’ll never know. We could just be sailing circles around the same island.”

“Very funny, Francis.”

“I jest.”

Francis wondered if he’d hear the story of the arctic. It didn’t matter now, He’d resigned himself that he’d never know. He wouldn’t press, not when he knew there was so much pain there. 

“Come now, Francis, let’s break out the good wine and get into tonight's tale.”

Below decks the captain brought out a bottle of champagne and opened it with an old Navy cutlass. 

Champagne flowed into gold-rimmed crystal glasses and Francis felt warm and light, not from the drink, but the way the captain smiled right at him. 

“So, Captain, tell me your tale, tell me how you wandered and were lost-”

“Oh, you'd best leave the poetry to me, Francis. But I hope you see the appeal now.”

The captain sighed, and with it the lights in the room turned low. 

“You once wanted to know how I made myself. If you want to know who I am, I must tell you where it began.”

“You don’t owe me that. I don’t doubt a word you’ve told me, not anymore.”

“Perhaps, but what’s past is prologue.”

“That it is.”

The sea captain looked away.

“We’ve spoken of the fools who try to seek glory at sea. Sometimes I forget how much of an exemplar I am among them.”

“That’s not how I see you.”

“I am- I was a fake.”

“I challenge anyone to listen to you tell your story and then call you a fake.”

The sea captain looked up at him with his lonely eyes. “Francis, a man like me will do amazing things to be seen.”

“I can tell.”

“My father was a ridiculous man. He was a consul general in Brazil and he and his wife would mix with the wealthy families in exile there. My mother was probably from one of those families, I never knew any more. I was born out of an affair. My father’s family had to find people to raise me. 

“Even my name was made up for my baptism, James Fitzjames. Like a bad pun.”

“I would have never known-”

“I was a bastard son, living under the great burden of a secret. I saw men in navy and gold travel to the farthest reaches of the world by sea. Tin soldier in toy ships, trying to tame the unknown. So I went to sea, aged twelve, wanting to chart new lands and put my name on the map. To build myself a great gilded life that didn’t humiliate me to live.”

Francis stared at the man before him, James Fitzjames, covered in gold, telling great tale after tale. Perhaps he was just a man who got more than he bargained for, perhaps Francis could use him as a warning sign that one should be careful what to wish for. But all Francis wanted to do was throw the table aside and take him into his arms. 

“James Fitzjames, all this time?”

“I’ve never said it out loud before. No one knew, no one remembered.”

“They do now. I do.  _ James _ -” 

“All these tales of valour and glory, these stories. Back then, I was so fond of telling them to anyone who would listen. It’s all vanity, always has been. Vanity of vanities; all is vanity. And here I am, all alone.”

“You are not alone now, James.”

“Am I not?”

“No.”

Francis’ hand slipped over James’. Francis stood from the table and walked over to James. Gently, Francis leaned in and kissed him. 

Francis let his emotions steer him, and James kissed him back. If this was wrong, if Francis was tempting fate, so be it.

James pulled Francis close, clinging to him like a shipwrecked sailor to a piece of debris. His desperation was written in the way those long fingers grasped at Francis’ shirt sleeves. 

The ship rocked, the only thing reminding Francis of the sea surrounding them.

James broke away, turning his head from Francis, his hands still intertwined in the lapels of Francis’ waistcoat. James shut his eyes and sighed. 

James let go, taking all the heat in the room away with him. 

"Francis, I apologize." He brought a hand over his mouth and didn’t look up at Francis.

"James, no."

"It's late."

Francis reached for his hand. "James, wait." 

"I have one more story for you, Francis. Then we will arrive, and you can decide what you wish to do."

James didn't take his hand away, he looked down at Francis, asking to be freed. 

Francis let the sea captain fade away into the shadows of the cabin, escaping and climbing the moonlit ladder out onto the deck. 

Francis found himself in the moment, alone at sea, wishing that he wasn’t. 


	6. V

Francis leaned his weight on the gunwale, staring at the dark water, hoping it contained some answers. 

This was to be the last night, the last story. Francis dreaded it, hated that this too would end. The call of the sea was about to take him away again. Was that not the nature of the sea, bringing novelty with every crest? 

Did Francis really want anything else? It was a terrifying thought. But James knew better than anyone that a life at sea was a life alone. 

“Come back downstairs with me, Francis,” James said, a whisper in Francis’ ear.

Francis turned, and James stood beside him. No cracking of old wood, no click of his heels on the planks, not even the rattling of gold chains on buttons to announce his presence. James demanded to be noticed, and Francis  _ would  _ notice.

“I have one more tale for you.” He walked back towards the ladder, and waited at the top for Francis to follow. 

They climbed down into the warm glow that waited below deck.

“This will be our last.”

“I should hope not. What of the voyage back?” What had this voyage done - what had James done - making him optimistic?

James looked down. “I am not what they say I am, Francis.”

“What are you?”

”You once asked me how I discovered the passage, and now I will tell you.” 

“Do tell.”

“Before the war, I’d spent time in Singapore with some other officers. Some larking about got out of hand. In the end, I’d settled a very base matter that would have blackened the Admiralty's name. I paid in gold, and I was rewarded, appointed Commander. It was an abundance of political luck. When the next expedition for the pole was announced, all I had to do was say the word.”

“That only makes you a man.”

“With the Admiralty's full blessing, I took two ships carrying 129 men, and I went looking for places that were never meant to be found.

“My ship was beset in ice. My crew died around me, I buried them in the rocks. Still, I was unable to let go of my own hubris. Sick, poisoned by long gone rations. Starving, I continued on. My body wasted away, the fever burned, and still that madness was so instilled in me. I held that compass in my frozen, trembling hand... I did reach the pole, only to spill my blood on the snow. I saw the needle spin out as I collapsed to the ground. I drew my last breath in that cold bitter air, tasting my own blood.”

“You-”

“As I lay there dying, the keeper of the ice came to me, she held my head to the sky, and the sea made me an offer. I made a deal, to melt the ice, free my frozen ship. The sea would let me live on. I would never age, never die, not unless I set my foot on land.” 

James traced circles around the rim of his glass. 

“All I was really offered was a different kind of Hell,” he said, voice breaking. 

“James- How long?”

“I’ve lost count of the days, the months at sea alone. My name erased from history, I have received no glory, only metal in my skin and all these tall tales.” He threw up his hands motioning to his ship. “For a hundred years I've roamed the sea in the very ship that took me there.”

“I meant it when I said it last night. You’re not alone now, James.”

“For now, for this brief moment in time, but what is it to eternity? You seek the heart of the sea, and when you have it, you will leave, too.”

“But I can return, surely...”

“So you say. The sea, it will lull you like wine, and you will return to land, and you will forget.”

“Have you ever forgotten? Will you remember me as you sail on?”

“I could never forget you, Francis.”

Francis reached for his hand, caressing his knuckles with his thumb. 

What did Francis have to lose now? The favour of the uncaring sea? The very sea that put him on this ship and put this man in his path. 

“Whatever morning may bring, you don’t have to spend tonight alone.” Francis didn’t want to spend it alone, he didn’t want James to. He didn't want to let him go.

Francis brought James’ hand to his lips, kissing his palm, kissing his wrist. Francis looked up to search his face for an answer. 

James looked away and closed his eyes. He was the sea captain once again.

“I can’t, Francis. You desire the sea, not me. I don’t wish to be the closest option, the second best. Not again.”

The tears in James’ eyes glistened.  _ Real tears _ . What had Francis expected? That he would cry drops of gold? No, he was real, with a real heart that could be broken. 

Francis dropped his hand. James deserved more than this, more than the sea. More than the attention of a long lost explorer hellbent on knowing the sea.

The sea, the damned sea and all it took. This was all about the sea again. Was that a mistake? 

~~~

The door to Francis’ cabin slid open. 

Francis rushed to sit up. 

“We are here,” James said.

Francis dragged himself out of the bed, squinting to make out James’ form behind the bright lamp.

“The edge of the earth?” Francis longed for another night, another tale, to see James’ eyes in the candlelight again. 

No, the heart was what he sought. After all, he loved the sea, there was no one else, there could be no one else; the sea would not allow it. Fate would not allow it.

“Yes,” James whispered. He turned away and walked back to the ladder, hanging there, waiting for Francis. 

Francis followed him on deck. The sun was rising, bright over the horizon, and ahead, over the bow, Francis saw land.

The docks were the same docks, bearing the same red and white flags of the land whence they came. 

“How did we get here?”

“The earth is round, Francis. There is no beginning nor end to the earth or the sea.”

No, of course it was a metaphor, but it was a real place. It had to be. “We sailed in a circle? Where is the-”

“The heart of the sea is yours, Francis.” James turned around, his eyes filled with tears. “What will you do?”

“I-”

He looked at James, the gold in his eye shining in the light, and thought of his scars. 

_ Of course. _

James had all but said the words. Gold, magic, ice - and the ice was part of the sea, too. 

Francis’ heart raced. 

“You?”

James nodded. He pulled out the compass and held it out to Francis. 

Francis took the chain, brushing past James’ hand. He flipped it open. The needle pointed towards James. 

“So the voyage-”

“Yes.”

“It was always you?”

“Yes.”

Francis let the compass drop, the chain slipping through his fingers. It hit the plank below and Francis’ hands were on James. He could feel James’ heart, the heart of the sea, beating against his ribs. He was flesh and bone like any other man. Francis’ lips met his, soft and warm, melting, giving way to Francis.

He held James close. James, his sea captain, the man with rule over the seas, now in his arms. How on earth had he managed this? 

Francis buried his hands in James’ curls. They were soft under his fingertips, 

“James,” Francis whispered. He cupped James’ face and stared into his teary eyes. “What does this all mean?”

“You have my heart, you have my love.” He placed a hand over Francis’ heart. “And so the sea is yours. Anything you want to know.” James’ voice faltered. He looked as if he was about to shatter, the same way as his china. “Anywhere you will go, you have its favour.”

“What if I don’t want to go anywhere?” How could he possibly bring himself to leave this ship now? There was never anything good waiting for him on land. Nothing-  _ no one _ like James. 

“What do you want to do?” 

Oh, James. Still hopeful after all the heartbreak. How could Francis deny him?

“I don’t want the secrets of the sea. Not anymore. There is more than the sea.” Francis sighed. “I want  _ you _ , James, that is all.” Finally, Francis was sure of his words. 

James smiled, brighter than the dawn. He leaned in to kiss Francis again.

“How fortunate you are,” James managed between kisses, “that with me, you do not have to choose.”

_ Exceedingly. _ Francis’ questions remained unanswered. It was all still so strange and uncharted. 

His hand slipped into James' as he led Francis back below deck. 

It didn’t matter now, there was time. If the legends spoke truth, they had all the time in the world. 


	7. VI

“What does this all mean? What kind of deal did I make here?” Francis asked. 

He sat on deck of _ Erebus _ , warmed by the sun, with James’ head in his lap. His hands combed through James’ curls. The light reflected off every gold thing on James’ body, so bright Francis could barely look. He looked anyway, of course, and gently traced the line stretching down James’ cheek with his thumb. 

“Well you aren’t cursed, if that’s what you’re asking,” James said. 

“Then what am I?”

James opened his eyes and looked up at Francis. “What do you want to be?” 

That was something Francis wondered at times. He wanted the same thing James did once, too, but oh how the heart changes with the tides. When it came down to it, he wanted to be respected. To be _ loved _ . 

He wanted James. With James, a ship to sail and a sky of stars was all he could ask for. 

“I want to kiss you.” Francis traced along James’ lower lip. 

“Then do.”

Francis pulled James up, wrapping his arms around him and bringing their lips together. 

They’d kissed all morning and it still wasn’t enough. What would be enough? Kissing James was like getting lost at sea, drowning; the longer he stayed, the further he drifted away from reality. Francis didn’t want reality, but he needed to breathe. 

Francis let go and James shifted to sit up beside him. He closed his eyes and sighed. 

“You’re a man of many stories and few answers, James. Perhaps I was wrong about you being a spy,” Francis said. 

James smiled. “I suppose I should tell you what parts of the legends about the heart of the sea are true,” he said. “The truth is, they all are in some way. The means, the what or the  _ who _ were never clear.”

“How?”

“I can bring you all the gold in the sea, I can keep the wind in your sails. If you want to know about the sea, in my cabin there is a map of every island and coast. A sketch of every creature in the sea - but that isn’t some great magic. That isn’t the deal.”

“What is?”

“You’ve won my heart and the seas’ favour. The sea will grant you what you desire.”

Is this what the sea had planned for Francis all along? Somehow it had seen past all the lies and closed off aches in his lonely heart, and granted him this: James, everything he’d desired. 

“You can leave and sail your own path or-” James shut his eyes and squeezed Francis’ hand, as if he’d disappear the moment James let him go. “Or you can share my burden. This curse. You could stay with me, both on land and sea, sailing for centuries. Stay this way…” James let go. “But I could never ask that of you.”

Francis was a man of few words and infinite thoughts. Francis loved James, and that was both the problem and the solution. His words would have to do. 

He took James’ hands once again. 

“James,” he whispered. “I know your story James, I feel like I’ve known you as long as the sea.”

James turned to him with those sad, dark eyes, causing Francis’ breath to catch in his lungs. 

“I love you. Not the way a sailor loves the sea, not blindly and in fear of the unknown. I see _ you, _ James, and I love you.” Francis reached up and pressed his hand to James’ cheek. “Let us lonely sailors never be alone again.”

Tears filled James’ eyes. “I would like that very much.”

“There’s just one more thing you need to do first,” James said.

~~~

“Where are you taking me?”

“You’ll know soon enough, Francis”

They’d sailed to a remote coast of Brazil. Dropped anchor, and James couldn’t get off Erebus fast enough.

James sat at the front of the longboat, rowing forward. 

Francis could see the rocky archipelagos around them and a sandy beach up ahead. 

James looked over the side of the boat and stood. He jumped into the water, sending splashes of seawater in Francis’ face, only giving him the time to cover his eyes. 

He opened his eyes to see James standing waist deep in the water, smiling. 

“A warning would have been good, James.”

“Don’t argue with me Francis, or I’ll conjure a storm.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it.”

James pulled the boat to shore until the keel scraped the sand beneath. 

“Join me?” James reached his hand out to Francis. 

“Always.”

Francis took his hand and leapt out into the water. The splash soaked his clothes, but Francis couldn’t help but smile as he joined James. 

“What now?” he asked. 

“Watch this.” James reached down and dipped his hand into the water. He brought it up filled with gold coins, pearls, and jewelry. 

“Well, that’s awfully convenient.”

“It’s a neat trick, usually my audience is far more entertained, if not aghast.”

“I’m not your ordinary audience.” It wasn’t that Francis wasn’t impressed. No, he knew James’ story, he didn’t care for the treasure and theatrics that distracted from the depths ahead. 

“You most certainly are not.”

James picked away at the gold, dropping pieces back into the ocean where they disappeared again. He held out two rings. 

“Are you sure?” James asked, gleaming eyes staring into Francis. 

“Dammit James, I made up my mind long ago. I belong with the sea. With you. ”

“Very well.” James picked up one of the rings, a simple gold band and held it to the light. “Then this is for you.”

Francis reached his hands out to James. “Make your claim.”

James took his hand and slipped it onto his ring finger. A perfect fit, like this was always meant to be. All the good love stories ended in a marriage, but one started with a story and was only just beginning. 

Francis wondered if perhaps this _ should _ be more monumental. 

James brought Francis’ hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles. 

_ No, this is perfect.  _

“My turn,” Francis said.

“This one’s purely symbolic.” James held up the other ring, gold with a distinct pearl. 

“I’ll have it anyway.”

James smiled, a hint of tears in his eyes, and handed Francis the ring. 

Francis slid it onto the one empty finger of James’ awaiting hand. 

“Take me onto land, Francis,” James said. 

Francis led him onto the beach, still holding his hand. The sand felt warm under his toes, and Francis wondered what it must feel like for James to set foot on again. 

James looked at Francis with a wide grin. 

“I came here before, you know? This very island when I was stationed in Brazil as a volunteer. That was before all the tales, before it all began...”

“Oh?”

“It was a long time ago, but I thought it would be symbolic. To go back to the place where I let my dreams run wild, not knowing what the future would hold in store for me.”

James pulled off his soaked shirt and sank down onto the sand. 

“More tales for us, I imagine,” Francis sat. 

He sat beside James and kissed his bare, gilded shoulder. He imagined James would tan so beautifully in the sun, while Fancis would burn, but it would all be worth it for the view. 

“Oh yes, many tales and adventures to come,” James said, leaning against Francis. “Full of sea monsters and the dragons that lie waiting at the edges of the map.”

Francis laughed. “Sea monsters?” 

“Francis, you mean to tell me I haven’t I told you about the Kraken yet?”


	8. Epilogue

Thomas Blanky sat at the bar, watching skittish boys filter in. Young volunteers, still searching for their sea legs. Every spring, a new batch with the same old dreams. 

A small group approached him.

“How may I help you, gentlemen?” Thomas asked. With his wooden leg and his pipe, he’d become a staple of this place. 

“Excuse us sir, but they say you’ve spent your life at sea. They say, you’re the one to see for a story,” one of them said. 

“Lads, I’m hardly a storyteller.” Somehow, he’d assumed the role. He didn’t mind, he supposed. There was something in choosing how to spin a tale. And it always made an amusing anecdote for his letters to Francis. 

“But I can tell you what I know,” Thomas continued. “I can tell you the tale of two lonely sea captains, lonely no more. Now, they roam from ocean to ocean, with the heart of the sea between them. They sail on a strange ship with blood red sails. Best pray you don’t run into them on your voyages.”

The sailors looked at Thomas with gaping mouths. 

Thomas laughed. “I’ve met one of them.”

“What was he like?”

“Ah, he has quite the temper. I’ve seen the way his fist hits a table, Navy officers quake in their boots, fine china shatters in his wake. I once watched him let a captain sail a ship in the wrong direction just to prove a point.”

“Good God!”

“But it’s the other you should be worried about,” Thomas said. “He’s very protective of his co-captain and he’s harnessed magic.” Yes, magic was the fastest way to scare a sailor. 

The sailors gasped. 

“Yes, he could break a ship in half with a snap of his fingers, or send a storm after you. So fear not the sea, lad,” Thomas said as he stood and patted one of the boys’ shoulders. “Fear its heart and the captains who command it.”

**Author's Note:**

> This started off with the idea of a man hopelessly in love with the sea hiring a sea captain who then slowly falls hopelessly in love with that man. Oh, and fantasy things happen.  
Big thanks to FireEveryTime/CrafterOfWords for being my moral support/editor for this. Would not have posted this without her.
> 
> Terror Bingo fill for "call of the sea". Comments are greatly appreciated <3


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